


Unusual Sight

by MoyashiRaita



Series: Seeing Death [1]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert, You have a superpower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-01 01:21:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8601637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoyashiRaita/pseuds/MoyashiRaita
Summary: You've always been able to see an individual's date of death. You don't know why, until one day an old man walks up to you. "You can read death dates, can't you?...What would you think of becoming a mortician's apprentice?"





	1. Chapter 1

You sat on the same park bench, day after day, watching people go by. You’ve done this for the past five years, ever since your only sibling passed away. You knew it was going to happen, but that didn’t make it any better. You’d known all your life that they would go sometime on the sixteenth of April, 2011.

 

You could also see that the lady across the park would die tomorrow, and the man with her the day after that. The child with them would live for a long while yet, however. July 30, 2039.

 

You wondered what happened to the couple. You supposed it would be on the local news. It was probably a horrible car accident or something like that. It wasn't a big town. You tore your eyes away from them. Another, older couple were walking on the path. The man’s death was apparently May 21, 2025, the woman’s, May 22, 2035. She would live ten years and a day past her husband.

 

You found this sad. At least they still had almost nine years together. You looked around again, but seeing nobody else, looked back at the young couple with their child. You couldn’t interfere. You’d tried that once, with your sibling. Time and nature wanted to happen, you had found. 

 

Yet you found tears welling up in your eyes at the thought of the young child, no more than four, losing both his parents. Hopefully he had some sort of family to take care of him.

 

You shook your head and looked away, only to spot a newcomer to the park. Despite the long silver hair he looked relatively normal — wearing black jeans and a sweater of the same color — but you felt the need to look closer, only to recoil in shock.  
To a normal individual’s observations, he was likely homeless, obviously old, probably slightly crazy. To you, however… something was off. _Very_ off.

 

On most individuals, the date of their death sort of… _hovered_ around them. Not this man. As hard as you looked, there was nothing. He had no date of death assigned to him.

 

And he had noticed you looking at him. You started to panic slightly as he half walked, half swayed over to where he was. _Oh, please don’t be drunk or on something_. You thought frantically as you looked for escape routes, only to find none. Well, there was the obvious one of getting up and running, but you suspected that someone with no date of death was more powerful than you in some fashion.

 

The man plopped down next to you and grinned.

 

“Ehehehe… it’s not often some~one notices me. What might your name be, lovely miss~?”

 

You gulped slightly. “Uhh…umm…” You stuttered slightly. You weren’t in the habit of telling anyone your name, much less creepy old men in parks. “I…I’m not really comfortable with telling you that.” You said, scooting slightly further away from the old man.

 

The old man simply grinned wider.

 

“Thankfully for our acquaintance, I have fewer scruples. My name is the Undertaker.”

 

You looked at the man in disbelief. “That’s a title, not a name. You must…” You started, only to have a long finger placed on your lips. Startled, you shied away, scooting as far as the bench would allow, causing the man… _Undertaker_ , to giggle again.

 

“Shy one, aren’t you? I am aware it is a title. But much as _you_ prefer not to share _your_ name, _I_ prefer not to share _mine_ , and inde~ed, I have not in a long while~”

 

You paused slightly at this. “How long, exactly?” You asked, curious. If this Undertaker had no death date, then…

 

“Ehehehe… you wouldn’t believe me if I told you~”

 

“I’m a lot more open-minded than you think.” You smirked, chuckling. _If only he knew_.

 

The Undertaker cocked his head to the side, and you caught a bright flash of fluorescent green. “A hundred and fifty years~” He stated, giggling afterwards, expecting a reaction of disbelief and more sliding away.

 

You shrugged philosophically, keeping a neutral face. “Makes sense.” You looked back towards the couple, who were now unpacking a picnic lunch while their son leaped after a butterfly, a sight that made your eyes fill with tears again.

 

The Undertaker’s face dropped into one of pure shock and confusion. “Eh?!” He exclaimed. You suddenly felt cold hands on your face and squeaked, trying to wriggle away from the bang-covered face that was suddenly in your own. However, the hands held you firm, and you felt hidden eyes searching your face. This made you wriggle more and try to look away. If the situation had been weird and uncomfortable before, this had sent the atmosphere plummeting into creepy-town. “Please stop wriggling. I’m trying to read your soul~” 

 

This stopped you immediately as you looked back in confusion. “What?” Okay, this guy was _definitely_ crazy, his statement and the lack of a death date notwithstanding.

 

The hands dropped away from your face, and the Undertaker simply sat there. “You are~” He finally said.

 

“I’m _what_?” You snapped.

 

The grin came back. “You can read death dates, can’t you~?”

 

You started and looked directly at the thick layer of bangs, trying to find some sign of eyes. “How …?” You gasped out.

 

The Undertaker grinned and settled back onto the bench, looking goodness knows where, though his head was turned slightly towards the couple you had been previously watching. “It’s not unheard of in the past fifty years or so~” He stated.

 

Your mouth dropped open. “How…why?” You were too startled to form a full sentence.

 

The Undertaker’s head turned towards you, grin still in place. “I run the funeral parlor five streets over. Come by tomorrow, and I’ll explain~” His grin grew larger, if that was possible. “I have custom-made coffins~!”

 

You glared. “I do not need a coffin!”

 

The Undertaker stood. “Ehehehehe… I wouldn’t be so confident, Miss. Nobody knows when they’ll die, after all~” He tilted his head towards the couple, who had managed to corral their son into eating. “They certainly don’t, but you do~” His voice gained a slightly taunting tone. “Wouldn’t you like to know why~” Giggling suddenly, he began to walk/sway away. “I’ll be expecting you~” He called back, before disappearing over the small hill.

 

You sat there for a few moments longer, recovering from the last twenty minutes. This Undertaker had known about your ability. He claimed to be at least a hundred and fifty years old. He had offered to explain.

 

You looked back at the couple, death dates hovering around. You looked at where the Undertaker had disappeared. Back and forth, back and forth.

 

Your rational brain screamed not to trust the creepy old man. But a small part of the irrational side whispered that maybe, _just maybe_ , the creepy old man knew what he was talking about. Your rational and irrational brains argued for awhile, but eventually, one won out. Eccentricity aside, he _did_ run a legitimate business, so he couldn’t be entirely insane. You still hadn’t ruled out him being a serial killer though, so you resolved to take the one weapon you owned — an antique-looking knife that you had been drawn to in a pawn shop about two years previously.

 

It was shiny, sharp, and had some sort of odd silver inlay in the black sheath and handle. It looked like it was from the nineteenth century, but the condition was like new. You had decided it was probably some cheap knock-off or replica, but it _was_ and _could be_ lethal. You’d hurt yourself not five minutes after buying it. It was a small injury, barely band-aid worthy, but it had taken a good week to heal. 

 

And so, the next morning, rather than heading to your park bench, you turned aside at the first intersection and walked to the local funeral parlor. It only took a few moments more than your normal walk, and you soon stood outside a large building, with a couple coffins outside and a rickety purple sign above the door.

 

Taking a deep breath (and making sure your knife was easily reachable, but still hidden), you stepped inside. “Undertaker?” You called, trying to project more confidence than you felt. You shut the door behind you, plunging the room into almost total darkness.

 

A split second later, a coffin began to creak open. “Are you here for a custom-made coffin~? Or perhaps something similarly personal~?”

 

You gave a little muffled scream, clapping your hands over your mouth as two green orbs appeared as the lid of a coffin was removed by long fingers, revealing the man himself inside. “Ehehehehe… Did you think I was a guest~?” The Undertaker’s — you supposed signature — grin was back.

 

“Why… why were you in a coffin?” You removed your hands from your mouth enough to speak.

 

The Undertaker shrugged. “It’s comfortable~” He leaned closer to you. “Would you like to try it~?”

 

You shook your head vehemently. You had a thing about small, enclosed spaces. “I want an explanation for yesterday.” You stated quickly, before Undertaker got any other unpleasant ideas. Your fingers twitched and strayed to the pocket your knife was in.

 

Undertaker giggled. “So, it’s information you want~? Don’t bother trying to pay me, m’dear.” He added, noticing your hand moving to your pocket. “I have no need for it. I only ask o~ne thing.” He stepped uncomfortably close to you.

 

Your eyes grew wide and you stepped back quickly, wrapping your fingers around your knife, preparing to draw it. “Stay away, creep!” You stated rather loudly, startling the Undertaker. You took the opportunity offered, and drawing the knife, you pointed it at him. His mouth dropped open slightly before he burst out laughing hard enough to shake a few nearby coffins.

 

“Bwahahaha… you re~ally planned to attack me? A little thing like you~?” The Undertaker was draped across his counter now, drooling slightly. “That’s the best thing I’ve seen since that butler…”

 

You were a bit on the short side, but you didn’t like it being brought up in _every conversation_. 

 

“Shut up!” You yelled, lunging at the man, forgetting that you were still holding the knife in your annoyance.

 

Suddenly, you were pressed against the Undertaker, the back of your head to his chest, the knife clattering to the floor as his arms wrapped around you, effectively pinning your own arms down. He bent down to where his face was right next to yours, his breath tickling your ear. “Now now~… That’s no way to treat a host. Still, I might just have to keep you here~ I haven’t had such a good laugh in _years_.”

 

You tried to struggle, but to no avail. The Undertaker was far stronger than you, which was unexpected. Wasn’t he over a century and a half old? You managed to turn your head, only to stop struggling in shock once you saw the face next to your own.

 

The man may be as old as dirt, but he looked like a twenty-two year old. Bright green eyes met yours, and a grin spread across his face. “Like what you see~?” He teased, letting you go as you gasped. You stumbled away, recovering just before you could trip over a coffin.

 

You turned around, only to see a look of interest on the Undertaker’s face as he bent down to retrieve your knife. “Now where did you find this, I wonder~?” He looked from the weapon to you, and then back to the weapon, holding it up to examine it in the small shaft of light from the window. “I didn’t think there were any of these old ones left~” He mused. You frowned and crossed your arms.

 

“I found it at a pawn shop. What’s so special about my knife?”

 

A small, sad smile crossed the Undertaker’s face. “What’s so special about it? To think one with your blood wouldn’t recognize one when they saw it.” He chuckled humorlessly. “This, m’dear, is a death scythe, and an old one at that.” He said, holding it with a level of reverence, all sing-song tone gone from his voice. He glanced up and noticed your befuddled expression. “I suppose I owe you an explanation, especially after that laugh. Come, m’dear, and have some tea and biscuits. We have a lot to discuss.”

 

A half-hour later, you were more confused than before the Undertaker’s explanation begun.

 

It seemed that in 1901, there had been a massive battle in a realm unknown to humans. The attackers had been defeated, but only a few defenders remained. The Undertaker had been one of these, along with a few others. At some prodding from you, he had given some names. Grell Sutcliff — who was currently somewhere in Germany with a William T. Spears — and Ronald Knox, who was doing well for himself in California.

 

But many more had fallen. The defenders — whom the Undertaker referred to as the shinigami — did the only thing they could. After a few years of searching for any other remaining shinigami (with only minimal luck) the thirty or so remaining reapers scattered (with a few exceptions) back to their original countries to find suitable humans to have children with. Only a few female reapers had survived, so pure-bred shinigami were going to be rare for centuries.

 

The only hope was to create some half-shinigami and hope they were powerful enough to be trained as reapers. It was unorthodox, as all reapers had previously been suicide victims, something the Undertaker had admitted while looking away.

 

It didn’t dawn on you until much later why.

 

However, their ability to recycle the souls of those particular individuals was lost in the battle.

 

Success with the humans was once again minimal. While all the children born were half-shinigami, the human side often won out just enough to make them unsuitable for training, and so those children never knew their shinigami heritage. They grew up, married other humans (or, in one or two cases, another half-shinigami, which had a better chance of producing a suitable reaper), and so the shinigami line became more and more diluted through the decades.

 

The only noticeable physical oddities was that those of shinigami heritage tended to live slightly longer than normal humans — but not enough to draw suspicion — and the frequency of green-tinted eyes was increased (along with short-sightedness).

 

However, there was another hidden ability, incredibly rare. The ability to see death dates.

 

The reason was unknown, but it had begun appearing sometime around the second World War, when a raid on the shinigami realm led to the destruction of the records that pertained to the to-die lists. The Library itself was intact, as were the majority of Cinematic Records, but there was no way to determine when and where people were to die.

 

Panic set in, until the shinigami realized that a few of the more recent children of shinigami heritage had the ability to see dates of death hovering around individuals. They had quickly rounded these up and used them to rebuild a new type of record system, where they monitored world communications and walked among people, relaying information back. It wasn’t foolproof, but at least they could partially do their job.

 

However, some slipped through the cracks. Humans labeled these individuals as insane more often than not, and shunned them accordingly. But by the present day, the Undertaker stated, the shinigami had gotten stable enough to begin rebuilding their ability to make shinigami in the historical manner, and no longer paid attention to the remainder of the shinigami line in the human world. If they came into direct contact with one, they’d certainly see if they were recruitable, but if not, they’d simply let them live out their lives.

 

It finally clicked in your brain what you were being told.

 

“So I’m… descended from one of these… shinigami?” You questioned. “Wait… so I could be related to _you_?” A note of horror crept in.

 

The Undertaker chuckled. “No. I saw that the other shinigami had everything well in hand, so I chose to stay in retirement. If it had become critical, I would have helped out.” 

 

You paused for a moment. “Is there any way to find out who I’m related to?” You vaguely recalled stories of one or two great-grandparents who had mysteriously disappeared. 

 

The Undertaker thought for a moment before shaking his head. “Even if you had photos, reapers can change their appearances to something more human.” He grinned and motioned to his eyes. “These don’t exactly blend in, after all.”

 

You smiled back before looking down. “So what happens now?”

 

The Undertaker rested long, black fingernails on his chin. You hadn’t noticed the color before. “You managed to pick up a death scythe unknowingly… I suspect you could be trained as a reaper, if you wanted.”

 

You hesitated. “I’m not sure I want to take people’s souls.” You admitted after a moment. Despite everything, you didn’t have a _problem_ with death, exactly, but to be the cause of it, even involuntarily…

 

The Undertaker chuckled humorlessly. “Now you know why I retired.”

 

The two of you sat in silence for a few moments before the Undertaker spoke again. “Of course…” He hesitated, and you looked at him expectantly before he continued. “I have been getting rather bored lately, and you make me laugh. What would you think of becoming a mortician’s apprentice?”

 

The thought made you start. You’d dropped out of college, not knowing what you wanted with life. Your money was starting to run out, and you still didn’t have a job. Now here was a weird shinigami person offering you something to do.

 

The Undertaker noticed your hesitation mixed with interest and continued. “I wouldn’t be able to pay you much, never had a use for money meself.” He grinned. “But I could offer you the spare room, so you wouldn’t need to worry about having a roof over your head.”

 

You looked at him, slightly creeped out. Now he wanted you to live with him? You started to stand. “Um…” You started scrounging for an excuse.

 

The Undertaker’s face fell. The sight made you squirm inside. Still, he was creepy, and common sense told you to leave quickly. “I see~” The sing-song tone was starting to come back. “Well, maybe you’ll visit sometime~” He sounded disappointed.

 

You nodded numbly, all your normal sass gone. “Can I have my knife back?”

 

The Undertaker handed it to you, looking away. “Of course~”

 

You backed towards the door. “Uh... thanks for the tea and biscuits.”

 

“My pleasure, milady~” The Undertaker didn’t even bother to look your way as you left.

 

You trudged home, feeling equal parts guilty and relieved. The guy could have been crazy, but he seemed genuinely disappointed.

 

Later that evening, as you were getting ready for bed, you remembered that you needed to order more contacts. Sitting at your computer to do so, you suddenly froze.

 

What was one of the other things the Undertaker had said?

 

 _“Shinigami are also incredibly near-sighted. Even the mostly human reapers suffer from it. It’s a rather insistent characteristic.”_ He had stated, grinning.

 

There was absolutely no way he could have known about your contacts. You never once mentioned it. Even most of your friends didn’t know. You’d also been told that it “ran in the family” for at least four generations. Your hands flew to your mouth. He was telling the truth. He might still be crazy, but… he _had_ also known about your death-reading ability.

 

Kicking the common-sense portion of your brain into a jail cell, you gathered up what personal belongings you actually cared about or needed into a large duffel bag. Slipping on shoes (ignoring the fact that you were in pajamas and a bathrobe) and locking your front door, you stuck your key into your robe pocket and began making your way to the Undertaker’s shop, even though it was almost ten at night. He didn’t seem like the type to go to bed early.

 

Arriving without incident, you raised your hand to knock, only to hesitate one last time. Why were you doing this? Bright green eyes came back to mind, and your hand knocked on impulse. Gulping, you shifted your bag from one shoulder to the other as the door opened and a familiar mop of silver hair appeared, only for the individual who owned it to start in surprise when he saw you.

 

“Is that job offer still open?” You asked, voice barely above a whisper as you looked into those green eyes, barely visible behind thick bangs. A real, genuine smile spread across the Undertaker’s face.

 

“Always, m’dear.”


	2. Chapter 2

You paused in your cleaning. It had been a week since you’d accepted the position as the Undertaker’s apprentice, and the first thing you had insisted be done was a thorough cleaning of the entire place. The man had simply giggled. “Whatever makes you happy, m’dear.” He had then swayed off to go work on a recent “guest”, as he called them. 

 

Weirdo.

 

Still, this job had its benefits. A sturdy roof over your head (even if the host was slightly crazy) and relatively easy hours (even if death wasn’t exactly on a regular schedule — something that had made the Undertaker giggle when you’d sarcastically stated as much). Huffing at the dust bunnies that still remained, you went back to work, only to have arms wrapped around you from behind. “Eh?!” You squeaked, only to hear a familiar giggle next to your ear.

 

You sighed. “Please let me go, Undertaker.” This had happened multiple times in the past week. The first couple of times, you had begun kicking and squirming, trying to get away, not sure what the Undertaker was up to. By now, you were pretty sure he just did it to try and scare you.

 

“Aww~” The man giggled as he let you go, and you turned to face him. “But I like hugging you~”

 

You rubbed your eyes with the back of your hand. “Then ask for a hug like a normal person.”

 

Undertaker’s head cocked to the side. “That’s not as amusing~” He pouted.

 

You rolled your eyes and turned your back to him again. “I’m working.” You glanced back, only to find that the man had disappeared. You sighed again and shook your head, continuing with your sweeping. As you worked, you began to hum an old folk song that you and your sibling had both loved since childhood.

 

About an hour later, you felt contented with the progress you had made. The front room was a lot cleaner now than it had been a week ago. It was actually looking like a shop now, rather than an abandoned building. Tired, you walked slowly into the back room, only to come face to face with the Undertaker.

 

He opened his arms. “Hug~?” He asked with a grin on his face.

 

You rolled your eyes. “Only because you asked so nicely.” Wrapping your arms around him, you found that he smelled surprisingly nice, a sort of cinnamon and incense smell. Shocked, you lingered there, failing to notice the grin turn into a genuine smile. This was a lot more pleasant than being grabbed from behind, after all.

 

Suddenly, you realized that you were still standing there in the Undertaker’s arms. You started to blush as you squirmed away. “I.. I just remembered…” You stammered as you backed away quickly, not entirely sure where you were going, or why you were so flustered. You ran outside, dropping your broom as you did.

 

You made your way towards the park you had frequented for so many years, before stopping at the intersection right before the park. On an impulse, you turned to the right and started walking up the hill, rather than going straight into the park. You hiked up the steep incline, breathing heavily by the time you managed to reach the top.

 

Taking a moment to catch your breath, you turned to look out over the small town you lived in. Smiling at the sight, you continued your walk, wandering in the direction of the graveyard. You stopped briefly to pick a few daisies that were growing by the road, weaving them into a short chain as you walked. Once you reached the graveyard, you made your way over to the willow tree in the corner. Under the branches was a specific grave, one you visited at least once a week, always bringing some fresh daisies.

 

They had been your sibling’s favorite.

 

Laying the completed chain around the base of the headstone, you plopped down at the foot of the grave, with absolutely no reverence for the dead.

 

Your sibling would have scorned you for any formalities in life, so you figured there was no reason to do it now.

 

“Yeah, I’m back, as always. Y’know, it’s been years since you died, and I still come here every week. Some people would say I’m crazy. You don’t think so, right?”

 

No response. You continued.

 

“Still, I’m pretty sure I found someone crazier. I met this guy.” You smirked at that. “I know, I know, it’s always a guy in the movies, right? I feel you rolling your eyes at me.” You paused for a moment, giggling momentarily before sobering up and glancing around, making sure nobody else was present.

 

“And I’m laughing in a graveyard. Almost as bad as giggling at a crime scene. Anyways. So, I found out something from this guy. Apparently, I’m partly this thing he called a shinigami. It’s pretty much a Grim Reaper. Super creepy, right?”

 

You went on, talking to the headstone about everything you’d found out and what you had surmised from that. “So yeah. I figure that means you must have been part this thing too, even though I won the horror lottery with the death date thing. I mean, you had the bright green eyes from nowhere and you were even more shortsighted than I am.”

 

You paused again. “I wonder what you would think of this Undertaker. He’s super creepy, but… I kind of like him. It sounds like he was kind of a misfit among his own kind, a partially forgiven rogue or something. And he smells nice, like cinnamon.” A smile made its way onto your face. “Remember those cinnamon cookies we used to make?” You continued rambling for at least an hour as the sun began to set and twilight settled in.

 

Suddenly, you heard other voices, and you stopped speaking. “Be right back," you whispered, and crawled behind the headstone, peeking out to scan the area.

 

Sure enough, you saw two men walking through the graveyard. On instinct, you peered a little closer, looking for their death dates.

 

One was scheduled to die today. The other was in one month’s time.

 

You gulped and made yourself as small as possible. Sometimes, your petite stature was helpful. You clapped a hand over your mouth as the one took out a gun and pointed it at the other. You shut your eyes tight and shrunk behind the headstone as a shot rang out and you heard retreating footfalls.

 

Risking a peek out, you couldn’t see the other man anymore, just the one with the scheduled death lying on the ground unmoving. Crawling out and giving the headstone a last caress and a quiet, “see you later,” you cautiously crept across the rapidly darkening graveyard to the body, a morbid curiosity and something like instinct taking over as you pulled out the knife you always carried with you now, upon the Undertaker’s request. He had given you a couple lessons in how to use it for defensive purposes. He had also explained in a few sentences how to use it for soul collection, more as a note of interest than for practical purposes.

 

However, despite the sketchy understanding you had of the process, a sort of muscle memory started taking over and you unsheathed the knife, making a small incision along the man’s shoulder. Cinematic records started pouring out, showing the man’s life. At least, you guessed they must be records. The Undertaker had given you a brief description of what they looked like, but you’d never actually seen one.

 

You watched in fascination as they played, weaving around you in beautiful patterns as the man’s life literally flashed by. Born in Chicago, he had moved away from there for a girl (of course) and had a family. Two girls and a boy. But then one of the girls got sick, and they couldn’t pay for the treatments. So the man turned to less than savory methods to try and save his daughter. She lived, but now he was in debt to some very bad people. They had moved to this town, but his past had caught up to him this evening. His wife and children would have gotten a note telling them to get out now, to run, change their names and not look back — that he loved them, but he had made some mistakes in life.

 

You felt a tear run down your cheek, which you quickly dashed away. Reaching out with your knife, memory took over again and you sliced through the records in one swift movement. They swirled into your knife, which now glowed slightly. As you studied it curiously, you felt a hand on your shoulder. You yelped and struck out with your knife, nearly cutting the Undertaker, who had been the one standing behind you.

 

He grinned slightly as he jumped backwards out of your reach. “I should probably be more careful when you’re holding that thing~” He giggled.

 

You grimaced. “What are _you_ doing here?”

 

The Undertaker looked away and frowned. “Part of being a shinigami is heightened senses. I heard the gunshot and peeked outside. Then I saw the cinematic records float up and wondered who was doing the reaping~” He looked back at you. “Imagine my surprise when I saw it was you doing it~”

 

You looked back at your knife. “How did I know how to do that?” You asked, glancing back at the Undertaker. “You sort of explained, but it was like… instinct, I guess.”

 

The Undertaker tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t know. Most shinigami need months of training. Of course,” He admitted, “The human-born reapers have apparently needed less training than the normally-made shinigami. Interesting~” He held out a hand to help you up, which you accepted. “In any case, we should get those records into a book. I’ll send it up to the library to be filed once we do.” He paused then, seeming to finally notice that you were in the graveyard. “Why’d you come here~?” He asked, curiously.

 

You looked down, then back at him. “Over here.” You walked back over to the willow tree, ducking under the branches. The Undertaker followed, pausing when he saw the grave, freshly decorated with daisies. You looked from him, to the grave, and back to him. “Undertaker, meet my sibling. The one person I couldn’t save.” You stated.

 

The Undertaker stood there in silence for a moment, before turning away. “I see~” He stated.

 

You glared at his back. “I just introduced my dead sibling to you, and all you can say is ‘I see?!’”

 

The Undertaker didn’t even glance back. “How old?”

 

You stopped. “Ten,” you whispered. That caused the Undertaker to stiffen, which did not go unnoticed by you. “Why?” You asked.

 

“They were young~…” He stated softly, before turning back to you.

 

“Yeah. Too young.” You muttered, looking down at the grave. “But why did you ask?” You were still curious why your sibling’s age mattered so much.

 

The Undertaker turned back to you. “No reason. Anyways~ Records need to be stored quickly so they don’t decay. Back to the shop~?” He began to walk away. You stood there, unconvinced by his response. Clearly, something was up with your sibling being ten when they died, and them just being young in general. Despite the normal sing-song quality, there was something else in the Undertaker’s voice, something gentle and regretful.

 

All it did was make you want to know what lay behind that crazy exterior.


	3. Chapter 3

Tiny raindrops fell on your head as you turned your face to the sky, enjoying the cool prickling sensation across your flushed skin. It had now been two weeks since you began your new job, and you were no closer to understanding the kooky old mortician. He still giggled at intervals throughout the day, randomly asked for hugs, and generally acted like a twelve-year-old. 

 

When he didn’t need your help, you had returned to sitting on the park bench, though not as often as before. Honestly, while the living and the dead meant about the same to you, your abilities didn't work on the dead. Watching the living was a far better way to pass the time. 

 

You sighed as the brief misting passed and you watched a family walk by, all with the same death-date, in five years time.

 

Only one thing still hurt when you looked at people — the children. They reminded you too much of your sibling. The Undertaker seemed to understand how you felt. He had simply nodded at you once the records of the man you had reaped were stored, and left you to your own devices for the rest of the day. You were grateful for the break. Reaping that man had taken a lot out of you, both physically and emotionally. The Undertaker had given you a short, thorough lesson in reaping the next day, to make sure you were better prepared, should it happen again.

 

“I would ha~te if you were to die from aggressive records.” He had commented, before condensing what was apparently an entire class at the Reaper Academy into about thirty minutes.

 

Frankly, you didn’t remember much. However, you noticed an old man sitting about fifty feet away, black umbrella propped above his head to ward off the intermittent misting. He was set to die in five minutes. You stood up, wandered over, and sat down next to him. He looked at you, nodded, and went back to his crossword puzzle. You watched him out of the corner of your eye, as he filled out a line. He noticed your staring.

 

“You like crossword puzzles?” He asked, gruffly.

 

You shook your head and pushed a stray bit of hair away from your eye. “No, but my sibling did.”

 

He frowned. “You young people. No respect for a good puzzle these days.” He filled another line. “Me, I always said I’d die with a crossword in my hand. Preferably a completed one.”

 

You checked his death date again. Three minutes. “Then let’s finish this one.” You smiled brightly. Who knew your day would involve helping an old man to his death, then taking his cinematic records?

 

He nodded, and the two of you worked together, managing to finish the mostly-completed crossword puzzle with fifty seconds to spare. As he finished the last letter, he stopped and looked down at his chest. “Looks like the old ticker’s giving out.” He commented in a matter-of-fact tone. 

 

You sighed. “Yeah, sorry about that. At least you finished your crossword puzzle.” 

 

That got his attention. He looked at you curiously, and you shrugged. 

 

“What can I say? Apparently, this is my side job.” You pulled out your knife, and held it up for him to see. 

 

He squinted at it, frowning. It wasn’t until eight seconds before his death that he recognized you.

 

“You’re the Reaper… death itself.” He stated.

 

Two seconds.

 

“Actually, I’m one of several. And I’m pretty sure Death is my boss.” You commented dryly as the old man’s heart failed and his eyes closed. You gently accessed the cinematic records — that much had stuck — and stored them in your knife after watching his life.

 

Only two weeks ago, this process had greatly disturbed you. But every time you did it — this would be the fourth time — you found it ever so slightly more appealing. Addicting might even be the right word.

 

As for this man, his life was only vaguely interesting overall. He’d been a cryptographer in the military when he was young. Didn’t do much, but was discharged honorably. He wandered the world after that, looking for patterns and codes. Bit superstitious, honestly. You smiled wryly. He’d led a long life, perhaps outwardly useless, but he’d been happy enough.

 

The only thing that made you a bit sad was his lack of remaining family that he’d known of. You resolved to bring a carnation for him every week when you visited your sibling. He’d liked those. 

 

Unbeknownst to you, someone had observed your actions. You were standing up from the bench, trying to slip away before anyone recognized that the old man was dead. You heard a light cough behind you, and you spun around. Thankfully, you had already re-hidden your knife, and you put on a face of horror. Without even missing a beat, you started hyperventilating. “We.. we were just chatting… and he… he…” You hoped the stranger standing in front of you was buying it.

 

An eye-roll told you that your efforts had failed. “You don’t need to pretend in front of your own kind, you know.”

 

Then the stranger suddenly relaxed, having eyed you. He sidled up next to you, snaking an arm around your shoulders. “Actually… has anyone told you that you’re absolutely gorgeous, sweetie?” 

 

You glared daggers at him, and without giving him time to react, stomped down on his foot. “Try that again, and I’ll make the next injury even more painful.” You stated darkly as the stranger edged away, wincing.

 

“Okay, okay! Knoxy knows when to back off from a da… young woman.” He changed the end of his sentence hurriedly as you moved a hand toward your pocket, where your knife was. 

 

However, something about his words triggered a distant recollection, but it was too vague to hit on. 

 

“Knoxy?” You questioned.

 

He nodded and smiled widely. “Ronald Knox, at your service.”

 

You paused. “You’re a shinigami.” You said after a moment. “I’ve heard of you.”

 

This caused Ronald to stop for a moment. “How?” He frowned. “That shouldn’t be possible, unless…” He thought for a second. “Have you run into a reaper before?”

 

You nodded, but didn’t volunteer anymore information.

 

Ronald stood there, racking his brain. “Who?” He asked, finally.

 

You shrugged. “He won’t tell me his name.”

 

If it had been possible, a lightbulb would have appeared over Ronald’s head. “Undertaker?” He frowned. “He’s around?”

 

You hesitated. The Undertaker had never said what to do if you ran into another shinigami, and last week he _had_ said he’d come after you to see who was doing the reaping… it reasoned that he was either trying to stay incognito, or a few people held a grudge against him.

 

You did the only thing you felt was appropriate. You ran. 

 

Thankfully, the Undertaker had taught you how to use your shinigami-enhanced speed, and you tore through the streets, sticking to the shadows and avoiding other people. You slipped into the Undertaker’s shop, shutting the door quickly. You drew in a breath, only to have arms wrapped around you and a chin rested on your shoulder. “Why are you in such a rush, m’dear~?”

 

You exhaled slowly. “I met a shinigami in the park today.” You responded, deciding to simply spit it out.

 

The chin was removed and the arms, previously loose, tightened. “Did they give a name?” He asked, concern in his voice.

 

“Ronald Knox…” You trailed off, hesitantly.

 

The chin returned to your shoulder. “That’s alright then~” was the response. “He’s not likely to still hold a grudge~”

 

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that…” You muttered as the doorbell rang in the front. Undertaker straightened up and peeked into the front of the shop.

 

“Here he is now~” The Undertaker grinned widely and pushed into the front of the shop, swaying back and forth. “I’m surprised it took you this long~” He giggled. “Slipping, are we?”

 

You peeked through the doorway, able to see both men.

 

Ronald grimaced. “I am not. I’ve been looking for you, Undertaker. You've made yourself hard to find.”

 

The Undertaker stopped swaying, and the atmosphere changed. “There's a reason for that. What do you need me for?” He asked, in a neutral tone, but a more normal voice.

 

“We’ve had a demon outbreak in England. They’re recalling all available reapers to try and avoid another incident.” Ronald looked past the Undertaker to the door, seeing you peeking through. “They’ve been targeting our date-readers.”

 

The Undertaker turned around and saw you standing there. He beckoned you over. You came and stood next to him, at which point an arm was placed around you. “How bad is it?” He asked.

 

Ronald rubbed the back of his head. “Nobody’s died so far, but they’re getting more bold. And… well, we know one of the leaders a bit too much for my taste.”

 

Undertaker frowned, and the arm tightened. “Him?”

 

Ronald nodded.

 

You looked from one to the other. “Um, who’s ‘him?’ I’m feeling a bit out of the loop here.”

 

Ronald leaned on the desk. “You want to fill her in? We need you as soon as possible at the Library." He said. "If you’re going to help, that is.” He amended quickly. 

 

Undertaker nodded. “I will. But she’s not to fight.” He stated, protectively drawing you closer.

 

Ronald looked from him to you, then back to him. “Glad I backed off.” He muttered in an undertone before speaking louder. “I’ll tell William you’re coming then. See you later.” He casually saluted and disappeared through a portal.

 

You turned around to face the Undertaker. “Explain.” You demanded.

 

He sighed. “Remember how I told you that we defended the shinigami realm?” You nodded, and he continued. “What I didn’t tell you is that we defended it from demons.” 

 

You gulped. “Demons?” Okay, shinigami were bad enough, now there were _demons_?

 

The Undertaker continued. “Yes. And it appears that the leader of one of the groups is a particular demon I’ve had dealings with in the past. He was worth some true laughter, but he was on a leash then.”

 

You frowned. “And that’s the ‘him’ you were talking about?"

 

He nodded. “Back then, he was a butler, named Sebastian by his master.”

 

You suspected there was more to this story. “And?” You prompted.

 

Undertaker hesitated. “I was… an informant, for his master.” He admitted, but hastily continued. “That was over a hundred years ago, however. The boy is long gone, and the family with him.”

 

You paused. “Boy?” You felt bad for digging into his past, but you wanted to know more about this reaper.

 

Undertaker turned away, releasing you. “His name was Ciel Phantomhive.”

 

You processed that, and then decided to go out on a limb. “I guess he died young too?”

 

Undertaker didn’t respond, but you saw his hand clench. “We have a lot to do before we leave.” He stated, changing the topic.

 

You decided to let it go for the moment. “Okay.” You watched at the Undertaker walked away.

 

No matter how many questions you had answered, more seemed to appear in their place.


	4. Chapter 4

Two days later, you were standing in front of a large building. You gaped up at it, awestruck by the sheer scale of it. A voice spoke behind you. 

 

“That’s the Library, m’dear.”

 

You stopped gaping at the building to stare at your companion. When he had received the news of the demon outbreak, he had immediately begun shutting down his shop. You had worked steadily for the past two days finishing up the last of the “guests” and closing up, with a notice that the owner was dealing with a “sudden family emergency” and would be back as soon as possible. 

 

During that time, the Undertaker had still been dressed in his normal attire — dark sweater, jeans, hair over his eyes.

 

Now, he was wearing a white shirt, tucked into form-fitting pants, with thigh-high boots covered in buckles and straps. His hair was also less carefully positioned, and revealed much of his face and eyes.

 

In addition, he carried a death scythe. Not a small, unobtrusive one like yours, either. 

 

No, he carried an _actual scythe_. You stepped back slightly. You’d never seen it before, as he’d never used it when training you. The Undertaker noticed your shock and grinned.

 

“Don’t worry~” he said. “It’s only dangerous for someone on the wrong end of it.” He held it out towards you, and you gently ran your hand along the flat of the blade, admiring the workmanship. You’d only seen a few death scythes, but even you could tell that this was far older and far better made than even your own… and the Undertaker had confirmed that as being at least a thousand years old. 

 

After letting you admire the weapon for a moment with a smile etched onto his face, the Undertaker lifted his scythe back into an upright position and held an arm out to you. “Let’s go see how bad it is, hmm~?” You accepted the gesture, and the two of you walked into the Library arm in arm. The moment you opened the door, nobody needed to tell you the state of things.

 

Cots were set up in the main foyer of the library, and most were filled with injured shinigami, with doctors and nurses running to and fro. Even so, it didn’t take long for the less-injured ones to notice your arrival. Three of them came over to where you and the Undertaker stood. You felt him stiffen besides you as they neared. 

 

One of the shinigami you recognized as Ronald Knox — who waved — but the other two were a mystery to you. One was tall, with dark hair and a pair of garden shears, and the other was slightly shorter with bright red hair and a chainsaw. The one with the chainsaw looked ticked off, while the taller one seemed neutrally cold. It didn’t take you long to find out who they were.

 

“Will, darling~! How could you invite this _traitor_ to help us?” The red-haired one complained.

 

The dark haired one — Will, you supposed — sighed and pushed his glasses up with the end of his shears. “He is a legendary reaper, Sutcliff. Do I need to remind you of the incident on the _Campania_?”

 

Sutcliff pouted at Will and glared daggers at the Undertaker. “I thought you said you’d never bring that up again, Will~ So cold.” She turned away, and you raised an eyebrow at the Undertaker.

 

He glanced at you and shook his head, looking slightly… embarrassed? Depressed? Regretful? You’d seen him sad, but not in this particular combination of emotions. You decided to let it go for the moment, and turned your attention back to the rapid conversation between Will and the Undertaker. You’d missed enough of it that it made no sense, but you got the idea that they were discussing the recent battle that had left all these shinigami injured. Finally, the Undertaker turned to you and bent down so that you were eye-to-eye.

 

“Stay here, m’dear. There’s something I need to do.” Without another word, he strode off, deeper into the library, as Ronald followed him. Will turned to you, and you suddenly felt shy. You hadn’t realized how much courage being around the Undertaker gave you until now.

 

“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. I am William T. Spears, former supervisor of the London branch, now supervisor of the Berlin branch. This is Grell Sutcliff, a perpetual thorn in my side,” — here, the red-haired shinigami pouted and looked miffed, muttering about _having dated for a hundred years, hadn’t they’d moved past that_?

 

William appeared unconcerned, and barely cracked a smile (but you caught the slight pink in his cheeks) when Grell whispered not-too-quietly in his ear that _he’d pay for that later_. You, on the other hand, tried not to choke with sudden giggles as Grell began bouncing all over the place, clearly pleased with William’s reaction.

 

William shook his head slightly and continued. “And you are already acquainted with Ronald Knox, from what I understand. How much do you understand of what is happening?”

 

You gulped slightly. “Well… the Undertaker told me that there was a big battle a little over a hundred years ago, between you guys and some demons, and that you won, but only barely. I guess the demons weren’t too happy about that?”

 

William readjusted his glasses again. “It’s slightly more complicated than that, but you have the general idea. Indeed, we won, but we suffered heavy losses. We are only just now returning to acceptable amounts of reapers, but we are still understaffed. The demons figured out how we had managed to keep going with our jobs, and recently began targeting our date-readers. A few days ago, we figured out how they were getting into our realm. Before we could fix it, they invaded. The injuries from that are what you see here.” You glanced around the room again, shocked at how much damage had been done. 

 

“How many got in?” You asked, curiosity once again taking over your shyness.

 

Grell spoke up then. “Only fifteen. But one is _Bassy_ ~” She sang out, and William turned to her.

 

“Please, Sutcliff… restrain yourself. Shinigami were injured.” He muttered, and the red-haired reaper subsided slightly. He turned back to you. “Indeed, fifteen got in. One still goes by the name Sebastian, a name that a previous master gave him.”

 

“Ciel.” You stated, causing Grell to look at you.

 

“How do you know about the brat?” Grell asked. 

 

You shrugged. “Um… Undertaker told me.”

 

William waved it off. “Yes, Ciel Phantomhive. That is not important right now. What is is the fact that this and the records room are the last two spots we have defended. The Undertaker has stated that you are not to fight, and since he is assisting us, I have no choice but to respect that. Talk to Ms. Korel over there. She’ll give you something to do. There are certainly enough shinigami here who need your help.” He pointed out one woman standing around with a clipboard, apparently directing everyone else, before walking off, Grell following him closely. 

 

You walked over to the woman William had pointed out, and were given a pile of bandages to roll and rags to fold. You sat at a small table, dutifully doing the task assigned to you. You had no clue where the Undertaker was at the moment, but you hoped that he was safe. Never had it been more sharply clear that this was what war was. 

 

Glancing up, you saw seven shinigami limp in, four of them supporting the other two, who were more seriously injured. Nurses swarmed around them, and you saw William hurry over. The room quieted as if by magic, and William wasted no time. “Report,” he said to Ronald, the seventh member of the group.

 

“Four of them swarmed the records room. Peters and Erin… were killed.” The room was silent for a moment, mourning the loss of two shinigami. But more had to be said, and so Ronald continued. “There would have been more losses, except for the fact that we showed up. The Undertaker killed two of them. Peters apparently killed the first one before he died.”

 

“And the fourth one?” William prompted.

 

“It ran towards the inner courtyard, but not before Undertaker issued it a challenge. He’s going to fight Michaelis in one hour, and if he wins, the remaining demons withdraw.”

 

Your breath caught slightly. The Undertaker was going to fight one on one? Rationally, you recognized that he’d already killed two, and that it should be easier to fight one, but they’d said this was one of the leaders, and it sounded like the Undertaker had failed to kill him in the past. You stood up and moved towards the group. “Where’s the inner courtyard?” You asked, quietly. 

 

Ronald frowned. “He doesn’t want you fighting. He told me not to tell you.”

 

You glared daggers at him, and Grell spoke up. “It’s in the center of the Library, past the records room.”

 

You grinned at Grell. “Thanks.” You sprinted off down the hallway, the sounds of William berating Grell fading away. One sound didn’t fade, however, and that was the sound of Ronald running after you. 

 

He caught up quickly, and forcibly stopped you. “He doesn’t want you there. He’s fighting a duel, and Sebastian _will_ use you against him.”

 

You wrenched your arm out of Ronald’s grasp. “I can take care of myself.” You turned to continue running, and Ronald spoke up again.

 

“You don’t even know where you’re going.” He pointed out.

 

This stopped you. You realized that, “past the records room” meant nothing to you. You had simply ran down the hallway impulsively. You hung your head, and Ronald sighed. “I suppose… if we stay out of sight…” 

 

You jerked your head back up. Ronald looked defeated. “You’ll take me there?” You asked, tentatively.

 

Ronald rubbed his eyes. “It’s that or have you running all over the Library, possibly getting captured or killed in the process. At least this way, I can keep an eye on you. Oh, he’s going to be so ticked off at me for this…” Ronald groaned and motioned for you to follow him. 

 

The two of you made your way to the courtyard, reaching it just in time for the first blows to land as the Undertaker swung his scythe, and the other tall figure in black — who you supposed was Sebastian — blocked it easily with what appeared to be silverware. You and Ronald crouched in the shadows, watching the fight. 

 

Suddenly, the demon glanced in your direction and vanished as Ronald swung around, blocking a cut from the silverware aimed at your head. He shoved you off to the side, and you watched as both Ronald and Undertaker fought against Sebastian. 

 

The Undertaker looked just as ticked off as Ronald had predicted. “I told you not to bring her here.” He stated, clearly angry despite his blank, exhausted tone. 

 

Ronald opened his mouth to apologize, but Sebastian knocked him out with a well-placed kick, and leapt back to your side, grabbing your wrist and twisting it. 

 

You cried out at the sudden pain, and the Undertaker froze. “Let her go.” He warned.

 

Sebastian simply smiled. “Why?” He bent down to look you in the eyes, and you froze, breathing heavily. “Why should I let her go? It’s only one life, and if she means that much to you…” He trailed off, and the Undertaker took the opportunity to launch himself at Sebastian. 

 

“Let. Her. Go.” He growled.

 

Several things happened in quick succession then. Sebastian let you go to block the Undertaker’s attack, which, in trying to avoid hitting you, went off-course, leaving him open to attack. Sebastian landed a heavy cut on the Undertaker, causing him to collapse to the ground. You tumbled to the ground as well, crying out in pain as your broken hand and wrist hit the ground first. The demon walked to a pile of metal and picked something up. 

 

You felt as though you would black out for a moment. The pain was almost unbearable. You forced yourself to stay conscious, and as your vision cleared, you took stock of the situation once more. 

 

Ronald was still knocked out, and the Undertaker laid on the ground, scythe knocked away from his hand. The demon stood over him, eyes glowing magenta, and with what appeared to be a stolen death scythe in his hand. You shakily stood up, clutching your own knife in your unbroken hand. You stepped forwards, swaying slightly as a wave of dizziness passed over you.

 

Sebastian glanced at you. “I see. The young reaper, coming to her master’s aid. Only a contract would provide more loyalty… or perhaps it is simply foolishness.” He commented, smirking.

 

You glared, drawing yourself up to what height you had as you continued forwards, drawing on what courage the Undertaker’s presence provided you. You stopped only a few feet from the demon. “Ah, but you see… I’m only part reaper…” you smirked right back. Even through the pain, you were able to see a death-date around the demon. A long way off, but present. “And that has taught me the value of life. My sibling died because I couldn’t stop a disease. But I can _certainly_ stop you and save him.” 

 

You drew a breath as the smirk faded from Sebastian’s face. You continued, voice growing stronger and more confident, even as you felt your legs give out once again and you sank down to one knee besides the Undertaker. “You and your friends have killed so many others today. But even if I die, it would only inspire others. After all, we all die at some point. I know that better than most. I would take care that you do not hasten your own departure from this world.” You wanted to laugh, as humorless as you felt. All the previous glee had departed from the demon’s face. 

 

“You’re a date-reader.” He stated, blandly.

 

You did laugh then. “Indeed I am, Sebastian Michaelis.” You sobered up. “Run. Or I will not honor the time you should have left.”

 

The demon barely hesitated. “I’ve made a deal with the Undertaker. My life, our retreat. His life… we keep fighting.” He smirked once more. “What makes you think you can carry on this fight, when even _he_ couldn’t kill me?”

 

You looked him dead in the eyes. “Absolutely nothing.”

 

Sebastian stood there for a moment, considering his options. He regarded you with some curiosity. “You are something different, unique… and it’s not just your sight.” He mused. Then, tossing the blade he carried to the side, and speaking a little louder -- “We will meet again, date-reader. But I will not run. Such a thing does not suit a Phantomhive butler.” He turned and calmly walked away from the courtyard.

 

You watched him go, then turned hastily to the Undertaker, concerned for his health. “Undertaker? Are you okay? Please be okay.” You stumbled over your sudden rush of words. A weak laugh came from the reaper, followed by a cough.

 

“I have never seen a reaper able to make a demon run away with mere words. You certainly have more perception than just your sight, m’dear.”

 

You smiled wryly. “Nobody wants to die. I simply exploited that fact.”

 

The Undertaker smiled. “Indeed.” He said. He raised one hand, placing it on your face. “And you, m’dear, saved me, while willing to die yourself. Why?”

 

You hesitated. You tried to find the right words, but couldn’t. Being impulsive by nature, you decided actions were better than words anyways. You quickly bent down, pressing your lips to his. A moment passed, and you broke away, blushing profusely. You opened your mouth to apologize, but a hand drew you back down, the other propping the reaper up. It only lasted a few seconds, but you knew that everything would be alright. 

 

The Undertaker smiled before collapsing in your arms, unconscious. You panicked slightly, but were quickly joined by two medics, accompanied by William and two other reapers. They informed you that he would likely be just fine. William insisted they check you over as well, but they were more concerned with the Undertaker’s wounds. In the midst of all this, Ronald came to, muttering something about how _he hated that silverware_. 

 

William hurried the both of you back to the library, where your hand was placed into a cast and your other wounds bandaged, while Ronald was smacked upside the head and given overtime, to be completed once this whole mess was cleaned up. You were left on a small cot to rest, though sleep did not come easily. You were still concerned about the Undertaker, and eventually got up to go look for him. 

 

Thankfully, the nurse you found was understanding, and not only showed you to the room where the Undertaker was, but brought your cot along so you could stay with him. Finally, you were able to rest, a little happier now that you knew the reaper was nearby.

____________

You woke up some time later, to a familiar giggle and silver hair in your face. You smiled, but then frowned. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?” You questioned, severely, sitting up. 

 

The Undertaker pressed a kiss to your forehead before rocking backwards slightly. “I’ve been awake for over two days, m’dear. You, on the other hand, have been asleep for almost a week.”

 

He giggled at your expression. “A _week_!?” You exclaimed, horrified. 

 

He nodded. “And a beautiful sleeper you are!”

 

You sighed and rubbed your eyes, noticing that you no longer had a cast on your arm. The Undertaker saw your confusion. “Reapers have accelerated healing.” He informed you. 

 

You shook your head. You'd been awake for less than five minutes, and today had already been too much. “I’m going back to sleep.” You announced, lying back down.

 

A soft laugh. “I’ll be here when you wake up, m’dear.” A soft voice, singing in a language you didn’t understand, was the last thing you heard as you fell asleep.

 

Some time later, you awoke. As promised, the Undertaker was there, waiting. You sat up again, drawing his attention. “Can we get out of here?” You asked, looking around. “I really hate hospitals.”

 

The Undertaker grinned. “Three hours ago, you didn’t seem to mind.”

 

You glared. “Three hours ago, you told me I’d been asleep for a week. That sort of canceled everything else out.” You thought of something else then. “What happened to the other demons?”

 

He shrugged. “They left. I guess Michaelis called them off after you talked him down.” He giggled. “I’ll never forget the look on his face~ He’s still good for a laugh after all.” 

 

A moment later, he stopped giggling. “I’ll call a nurse in. They’ll check you out.” He stood, and left briefly, coming back with a nurse. Sure enough, you were given a clean bill of health, and released. The Undertaker opened a portal, and the two of you stepped through, ending up in front of his shop. He stepped forwards, then turned to you, a frown on his normally cheerful face. He spoke bluntly.

 

“Three weeks ago, you became my apprentice after I revealed your heritage to you. Two weeks ago, you accidentally reaped a soul after telling me you had no interest in it. A week ago, I dragged you into a war you had no reason to be in.” The Undertaker paused. “After everything that’s happened, after all this pain… are you ready to go back to simply being a crazy old mortician’s apprentice, m’dear?” He raised a hand to brush a stray hair away from your face, waiting for your answer.

 

You nodded, a soft smile crossing your face as you looked at the still-visible green eyes of the Undertaker, filled with the promise of a future.

 

“Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt: “You’ve always had the ability to look at someone and see the exact date of their death. One day, you spot an old man with no death date. He walks towards you…”


End file.
